


Concern of the Flesh

by frumious_bandersnatch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Chuck Shurley is God, Death’s car, Drinking, Inexperienced Sex, M/M, Rarepair, Supernatural Conventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumious_bandersnatch/pseuds/frumious_bandersnatch
Summary: Death checks in on an old friend who has some different ideas on how to enjoy what humanity has to offer.
Relationships: Chuck Shurley/Death, Death (Supernatural)/Chuck Shurley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Concern of the Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, man, I don’t have an explanation for this. Got my period, got horny for these characters specifically for some reason. I’m sorry.

It used to be a horse. Pale white coat, mane, skin just barely pink. Hooves like steel. Eyes such a pale blue they were practically non-pigmented. But times changed. So Death drove a Cadillac. It was a 1959 Coupe DeVille, to the average observer, and in makeup, it was. Metal and leather and rubber, of course. But it was still his steed. Still alive in the purr of her engine and how she rumbled to life without a key, in how she took him precisely where he needed to go without him having to so much as put his hands on the wheel.

He stepped out, cane tapping once, firmly, against the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. Rested his hand on the hood, patted it once, and closed the door as he looked quizzically at the building, and then at the small stream of people meandering into it.

He never understood worship, never understood praise and prayer from either perspective be it the devotee or the deity. Of course he got prayers. For Death, begging; to Death, to Azrael, for vengeance. He answered neither type. 

People turned to look. Of course they did, they always did because even the smallest creature could sense something was different, something wasn’t quite human behind the mask of skin and bone. But they said nothing; it was easier not to, so easy for the human mind to give an explanation. And there happened to be a ready one at hand, because none of them were themselves.

Dressed up. Idolization, a masque ball without the dancing.  _ Cosplay.  _ They made themselves into what they loved to talk to the person who created it and it would have been intriguing had Death cared.

He stepped into the convention hall and slowly tilted his head to the side before he continued on forwards. He knew where he wanted to go.

To a set of double doors, someone with a vest that said ‘security’ standing outside.

“Hey, man, the panel doesn’t start for twenty minutes or so. I’m sorry, but I can’t-“

“I am not,” Death started. “Here for a panel. I am here to see an old friend.” He said simply, and there was something in his unwavering gaze and the  _ aura  _ around him that had the man stepping to the side and holding the door open.

“Right. Right, uh, come on...come on in, then.” He cleared his throat, brow creased and eyes flashing with a primal fear.

Death gave no word of thanks or acknowledgement, only striding in and listening faintly as the door clicked closed.

“Adonai,” He greeted, looking up and dusting off the front of his overcoat, though there was no dust to speak of. “I was wondering where you’d...holed up.”

Chuck jumped from where he was sat, typewriter shifting precariously on the wobbly table in front of him. “Death!” He exclaimed, seemed surprised as he did so. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and blinked rapidly. It was nice, tuning out of omnipotence, but sometimes it led to unexpected surprises. Like this one. “Uh- wasn’t exactly...expecting you here? What are you doing? You’re- you’re gonna blow my cover, man, come on.”

“Your little human facade, yes. You’ve gone native.” Death frowned, bridging the gap between them.”I thought you were done being ‘hands on’.”

Chuck nodded. “I am, I am.”

“You say that now.”

“Let me finish. I’m not interfering too much, and- there’s so much to experience. From their eyes, I wanted to see that. And I mean, it’s great! There’s song and laughter, and- nachos. They did that all on their own. You like it too. I know, I-“

“You know everything, yes, I don’t need reminding.” Death’s eyes glinted with something amused. “I do enjoy...the human aspect. The food. The culture, on occasion. But never quite to this extent.”

“Food, culture, that’s, that’s not even half the picture. You look so out of ease with your vessel. You’re not even getting the full scope of what you  _ do _ sample.” Chuck shrugged, giving a glance at his typewriter before he clasped his hands together, clearing his throat almost nervously.

“It’s not a vessel. It’s  _ me _ . Just a different form.”

“And you’re using that form like a sock puppet!” Chuck spread his arms, exasperated for a second. He suddenly held a glass of scotch in his left hand, carefully took a sip, and continued. “You know what- stay through the con. Through the panel, then we can have an actual talk. Right? And, uh, Chuck. I like to be called Chuck, now.”

“Chuck.” Death mulled the word over slowly. “Charles. ‘King’. Can never really stray from grandeur, can we?” He gave the smallest smirk that would have been the equivalent of a guffaw from anything, anyone else.

Chuck blinked, and then laughed. “No. I don’t suppose I can.” He shook his head and grinned, looking down at his glass contemplatively. “But you’ll stay? Maybe we can go out, get a few drinks, there’s a bar near here, uh-“

“Excellent mozzarella sticks and fried mushrooms. I know.” Death nodded, carefully taking a seat in the front row of seats. “What do you plan to do if they ask about your life outside writing?”

“Eh, make shit up. Re-skin something that actually did happen.” Chuck shrugged, walking up to the stage and sighing softly. “I’ve gotta...go backstage, so they can call me out when it’s ready? I mean- would love to keep talking but-“

“Of course.” Death bowed his head, leaning his cane against the inside of his thigh.

The panel came and went. Very interesting, very inaccurate, at some points, things that made Death chuckle to himself. About reapers, about metaphysical truths about the universe, about angels and reapers and demons. But he supposed Chuck had the right to take creative liberties with his own creation.

And as everyone filed out, fans and security and those dragged along by their eager friends, Death stood, tapped the foot of his cane against the inside of his shoe absently. In moments the room was so very suddenly empty, aside, of course, from the two entities. “Are you done for the day?” Death asked, giving a soft incline of his head.

“Yeah.” Chuck wiped his sweaty palms against the front of his jeans, nodding. “Yeah, I did the book signing earlier, we’re good. I can,” He raised his hand to snap.

“No. If you’re going to be so adamant about the human experience, I can drive.” Death said, eyes giving that gleam again. 

Chuck stared at Death blankly for a moment, hands on his hips and brows raised. “...Fine.”

Death shook his head. Sometimes God would act like so much of a child it worried him. He held out his hand, and when Chuck took it, he led the other being out, through the hall, into the lot. 

“You know, I loved writing your opening scene.” Chuck mused. “With the car and the, the man and everything. So cinematic.” He said, standing back as Death pulled open the passenger side door and ushered him in.

“Was it?” Death got into the driver’s seat, and rested his palms on the sides of the steering wheel. 

“Oh, yeah. And your meeting with Dean?” Chuck pulled his door closed. “The juxtaposition between, uh, something so small and so brace against you? Some of my best writing. Some of your best work.”

Death smiled at that, still letting himself settle and relax in the car before the engine started as he gave a small nod. “Is that all I am? Entertainment?” He asked, mirth easing into his tone.

“No. No, no, you’re more important than that, you know that, Azrael. You’re one of the four. I care about you.”

Death opened his mouth to speak, to say that he was the only other one that wasn’t either imprisoned or forced into baby sitting duty for God’s dead children. But he didn’t need to say that. He could see that Chuck was thinking it, too, in the way he shifted uncomfortably to look out the window. Best not to rub salt in an open wound.

He looked out at the road and hummed, tapping his fingers on the wheel. It was a short drive, and there was room to park; of course there was. When you travelled with God things were convenient, no matter how ‘authentic’ he wanted the experience of humanity.

“Well. Shall we?” Death asked.

“Of course.” Chuck replied, stepping out of the car and as Death joined him, taking the other entity’s hand.

They got a table. A booth, in the corner, and Chuck goaded Death into cocktails along with the food and they laughed, and reminisced, and it was simple and fun and  _ human _ in all of its ease.

“Do you miss him?” Death asked, taking a long sip of his ‘death in the afternoon’. He liked the irony almost as much as the absinthe.

“Lucifer?” Chuck scoffed, shaking his head as he downed most of the rest of his scotch. “Nah. Nah, it’s barely been any time.”

“Let me rephrase.” Death cleared his throat, swiped a small fried mushroom from the platter and chewed slowly. “Do you regret it?”

“The Cage?” Chuck frowned, scratching at his beard. “Maybe a little. It didn’t get the point across. It drove him mad, leaves me with a bigger mess to pick up. And then there’s the whole ‘did he deserve it, was it his fault’.” He shook his head. “But I still stand by it.”

“That’s fair.” Death nodded. “So is this...this, is what you’re here for? The...conversation, the people, the food, the music?” He looked over at the band on the bar’s small raised stage. Jazz. He liked it, but he couldn’t say it was his favorite sort of music.

“Oh, there’s more than that.” Chuck laughed softly, set his glass down and lounged back. “ _ So  _ much more.”

“Mm.  _ Sex. _ ” Death inferred. “They prosecute it in your name, you know.”

“Not like I told them to. For all that it matters, I like all kinds. And it’s intimacy, too, the connection. Not just the action.” Chuck shrugged. 

“You need a new prophet. Have them speak that. Sort out the confusion.” Death hummed, refilling his empty glass with a thought and taking another drink.

“Are you kidding? I’m technically the current prophet right now, and, uh, they’d be crucified. Not literally, but this isn’t exactly the era for involved prophets.” Chuck laughed and shook his head, “No, no. Out of the question.” He picked up a mozzarella stick and looked down at it contemplatively before he dragged it through the little plastic cup of marinara sauce and took a bite. 

Death nodded as if he understood, fiddling lightly with the paper lining for the basket of mushrooms. “What do you get out of it? You’re...well,  _ you _ . What’s the point? Is it even pleasurable?”

Chuck paused, before smirking. “So much more. Of course I feel pleasure. Really, most things can. Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten the urge, never...experimented?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Death!” Chuck exclaimed, spilling his drink on the table as he spread his arms. “You’re missing out. You’re deprived.”

“You’re drunk.” Death shook his head, cleaning up the mess with a thought. “I’m not  _ deprived _ .”

“Yes, you are. And yes, I am, you should be too. Enjoy it, man.” Chuck took a sip of his drink. “Let me show you what you’re missing.”

Death choked on his drink and spluttered. “Excuse me? Did you just- proposition me?”

“Uh, yeah. So, huh, let’s finish the food, head back to my place?” Chuck offered, raising his brows and lounging back. “What’s there to lose? Nothing. To gain? Uh, experience, or whatever. Pleasure.” He hummed. “Skip the driving this time?”

“Chuck,” Death sighed exasperatedly, and then they were in the front room of a modest but messy house.

“Good. Ready?” Chuck asked, clapping his hands together. Excited, grinning, face flushed.

“For?” Death asked, leaning forwards and bearing a little more weight on his cane.

“A kiss, at least, to start.” Chuck paused. “Right, right, you don’t- no framework. I get it. Let me,” He took a few steps forwards and reached up to cup the side of Death’s face.

Death blinked, shifting, for a moment so entirely unsure. “I don’t-“

“That’s why we’re doing it,” Chuck said simply, leaning up and pressing his lips to Death’s. He smiled lazily into it, eyes slipping shut.

And Death tensed at first, didn’t move, didn’t reciprocate. Until he did. Slowly, hesitantly raised a hand to tangle in the curls at the back of Chuck’s head. For once it was a new experience, a new feeling, coiled and warm in his chest. He pulled away after a moment, breathless. “And...next?”

“Now?” Chuck hummed, leaning into the still present touch at the back of his head. “Now, I think, you put down the cane and take off the overcoat and we get a little more familiar with each other.” He chuckled softly, pulling away to slip off his jacket as Death did the same.

And then Chuck was right there, hands on Death’s sides as they kissed again, fingers curled in and one arm shifting to wrap around so he could rub and touch at the other being’s back.

And Death had the freedom of touch, too. Used it to grip at Chuck and pull him closer, tight. Felt like something right, and he slumped into God at what felt like a glacial pace to him.

To Chuck, in reality, it was like Death melted against him. Even let out a small, confused groan. It was almost cute.

“Oh, we like that, huh?” Chuck asked, murmuring as he pulled back. “Let’s,” He leaned back in to kiss Death again, undressing the pair of them down to their boxers in a blink.

Death scarcely noticed, hands slowly drifting down to cup at Chuck’s hips. “I want to touch you.”

“You are,” Chuck pulled back. “You mean-“

“ _ You _ , Chuck. Your light. I want to touch you.” Death reached in, skimmed his fingers over the skin of Chuck’s back and suddenly was feeling something intangible, something bright and beautiful and almost overwhelming.

Chuck gasped. “Ah, yes-“ Well, he’d never done that before. Humans couldn’t comprehend it, angels didn’t have sex, and in the beginning it hadn’t even been a thought. He liked it. “Let me,”

“Please. Yes.” Death confirmed, and then suddenly hands were tangled up in him, in wings as black as nothing yet shining with dying stars and pinpricks of light and he was moaning, arching back, squirming slightly.

“Bed?” Chuck asked, breathless.

“Bed.” And then they were in it, Death on his back and Chuck braced above him and they were kissing again, hot and slow and sweet all at once.

Lips were on Death’s neck, were at his collarbone, teeth biting teasingly.

“You’re beautiful. You know that. This body, I didn’t make it. I don’t know where everything is. I like that.” Chuck decided, smoothing his fingers through Death’s hair. “I’m going to ride you.”

“You’re going to…” Death frowned, not quite following. In a snap they were both fully bared, and Chuck’s hand was on his cock. He just realized how hard he was; aching, throbbing. He moaned.

“But you got all the details right, apparently. Pity you’ve never used…” Chuck bent down, kissed at the tip. “Think I’ll suck you off first. Yeah.” And then he had an inch, two inches past his lips and his cheeks were hollowed and Death was  _ groaning _ , back arched off the bed and it was filthy, would have been sinful if it wasn’t God and Death, beings older than time and the concept of sin itself.

“Oh,  _ God _ .”

“Chuck.” He quickly corrected after he pulled up with an audible, pornographic ‘pop’. “Bring your, uh,  _ you _ closer. Wanna touch.” He informed before going right back down, taking Death to the root in an instant. That earned him a curse in a language older than enochian, got him wings and being pressed into his hands. And oh, did he touch. Stroked, petted, curled in his fingers and  _ tugged _ and the response he got was more than worth it. Death, it seemed, was very vocal.

“Hah- Chuck, I’m-“ He didn’t know what he was going to do but he knew it was coming and fast. He fisted his hand in Chuck’s hair and pulled, stroked, thrust his hips up off the bed and came with a strangled shout.

The birth of a star, a supernova- incomparable. He was coming undone, spilling himself down God’s throat and it felt like perfect union.

Chuck grunted, swallowed, and slowly, shakily pulled up with a grin splitting his features. “Beautiful. Perfect, right, good, isn’t it?” And Death’s answer was a whispered ‘yes’. “Want more?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Might write more for this if I feel like it or if you all have any ideas for it.


End file.
